


Just Meet Me in the Middle of the Road

by Operamatic



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, Intimacy, M/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Operamatic/pseuds/Operamatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected The Adventure Zone drabbles (originally posted on Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sloane/Hurley - Sharing a Bed

“This is ridiculous,” Sloane grumbles, spitting out an errant strand of Hurley’s hair that’s found its way into her mouth.

“What’s ridiculous is that you’re a grown woman who’s been sleeping in her car for the last year!” Hurley quips. She’d never considered her bed to be particularly small, but then again she’d never had to entertain an overnight visitor who was twice her height and, if Sloane’s elbows jabbing into her back were any indication, constructed entirely out of coat hangers.

“What’s _ridiculous_ is you are an upstanding law enforcement official who doesn’t own a couch like a sane person.” Sloane shifts again for the umpteenth time, trying and failing to keep her butt, feet, and knees from hanging over their respective areas of Hurley’s economical little bed.

“I said I’d sleep on the floor,” Hurley responds, voice gruff and quiet. She hunkers further into her space, a tightly wound divot that Sloane’s attempted to wind herself around without ever actually touching her partner.

“You have a bed you might as well enjoy it,” Sloane can’t keep the bite out of her voice. How nice to have a respectable job with a paycheck that affords you beds, it says. She’s already wincing at the way Hurley stiffens.

“I just…I worry…” The words are soft where Hurley isn’t. It’s a strained kind of tenderness, tentative buds reaching through years of cracked dry silt, waiting to be trod on.

Sloane doesn’t respond right away. Instead she swallows, sniffs, cracks a bone in her jaw. Moments like these are rife with things she could say. Words of understanding, words of affection that feel like pebbles in her mouth - foreign, weighty, uncomfortable.

So she doesn’t say anything, but tucks herself tighter around Hurley, legs wrapping around her feet, warming them. Sloane’s chest flushes up against her back, and the shudder that results might be a sigh. Might be a sob. Might be a fault in the springs.

One arm snakes under her head,a bony pillow, while the other settles across Hurley’s own, clutched against her middle. Together they form a knot of limbs and breath in the grain of her apartment. Little by little they relax, muscles loosening, eyes drooping.

Together they inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.


	2. Sloane/Hurley - A Kiss on the Cheek

“Hand me that spanner?” Sloane’s hand comes up covered in engine grease, a finger extended absentmindedly towards their workbench.

“Ok uh…” Hurley eyes the array of various blunt instruments laid out before her. She’s still not entirely sure what all of them do. The only time she’d ever held a wrench before was wresting it off of a deranged gnome that had tried to brain her with it.

“You don’t know which is the spanner, do you?” Sloane snorts through her nose, a low chuckle emanates from her place under the battlewagon. Positioned as she is, laid prone on a rolling board to better adjust under the hood, Sloane’s face isn’t visible. Hurley can still hear the smirk in her voice though.

“Of course I do…it’s the one that…spans…things,” she reaches for what she thinks is the right tool, before squatting down to hand it to Sloane.

Sloane’s finger hooks into the round ring on the end, but instead of tugging it underneath with her, she uses Hurley’s firm grip to leverage herself and roll out.

There’s oil and grime on her face, her long black hair tied back in an ugly bun to better keep it out of her eyes. For some reason, the sight makes Hurley’s heart thump a violent path up into her throat and settle in there like a stone.

“Good guess,” she twirls the spanner in her fingers, “But I meant the other one.”

“There’s _another_ one?!” Hurley’s shoulders droop incredulously. Sloane actually lets out a laugh, throaty and low.

“Aw, do I need to make you a guidebook widdle baby? With cute widdle pictures?” she sits up, propping a chin on her hand, smearing more grease along her already dirtied chin.

“Don’t patronize me, I’m more of an adult than you are,” Hurley scowls, before running her tongue along her thumb and brushing away a dab of oil on Sloane’s cheek. It doesn’t clean it, just dilute it some into a long smear along the sharp plane of her face.

“Gross,” Sloane hums, turning slightly so that Hurley can better attack the offending stain.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” she replies, before wetting her thumb again.


	3. Taako/Klaarg - Holding Hand

“Gimme a hand here big fella,” says the stack of groceries that Taako is, presumably, somewhere behind. 

Klaarg grunts, moving to shoulder the lot of it, but Taako dances away slightly, the tip of his hat poking out from behind a hamhock. A klaxon, once upon a time deafening, thrums dull but hot inside Klaarg’s skull at this. It’s a warning he’s still learning to decode - you’ve done something wrong, he’s not letting you do your job, you’re supposed to do things for him because that’s what you’re _FOR_.

“Woah woah, slow your roll there!” Taako motions with his foot, sticking out at a jaunty angle, towards a heavy sack of something, rice perhaps, “Knock off the butler schtick, I’m not looking for a pack mule.”

Klaarg’s mouth opens and closes, fangs worrying at a familar sore spot on his upper lip (he’s trying not to worry at it so much, but old habits die hard). A voice, honey-butter sweet, tries to work its way out of his throat but all that comes out is a gravelly, “You’re gonna fall over.”

“PSSSH, you underestimate my stunning physique dear,” Taako sing-songs, his voice dripping with sarcastic narcissism, “Just take the rice, the beans, no not those beans, yes good and here get this friggin’ onion out of my eye oh thank _god_ -”

A few minutes of careful coaching later, they’ve got two sets of groceries, approximately the same size even though Klaarg’s load is definitely heavier, tucked under one arm each.

“Muuuuch better,” Taako drawls, before thrusting out a hand, palm up, in between them. Klaarg isn’t sure what to make of it. Is it meant to be a fistbump? A request for praise? Was he supposed to bring a hot towel - but wait why _should_  he - but _shouldn’t he?_

“Gimme some sugar, baby,” Taako waggles his eyebrows at him suggestively, index finger crooking inward.

Hesitantly, Klaarg puts his paw on top of Taako’s waiting hand. He means it to be a simple grab, palm to palm, but Taako curls his fingers in between each clawed digit and squeezes, thumb running absentmindedly on the edge of where fur meets leathery hide.

“Now let’s see if this lousy market has rooster sauce,” Taako tugs him onwards, and Klaarg follows in kind.

**Author's Note:**

> All Prompts from this meme: http://bit.ly/1Yxbg3A  
> Title from "In Memoriam" by the Oh Hellos  
> Follow me at operamatic.tumblr.com


End file.
